


We'll Say It Wasn't Easy

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, WHO CAN SAY?, What am I doing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: A prequel to a fic I haven't written yet because C'EST MOI. Modern AU Uni Setting.





	We'll Say It Wasn't Easy

This is clearly some kind of punishment from God.

That’s all Henry can think as he trails a very, very drunk Elizabeth York through a moonlit field, her gait weaving, her coat sliding off one shoulder even though it’s bloody freezing and the champagne-colored party dress she’s wearing has a high neck, but no sleeves. He can see the pale skin of her upper arm as she bops along, and fights the urge to catch up with her and push her coat back into place.

_ Not my problem _ , he reminds himself, although if that were true, he probably would already be in his car on the way home now, and not ruining his shoes.

“Lizzie,” he calls again. “Let me drive you home.”

“Don’t need a ride!” she replies, gesturing expansively with one hand. “Have my trusty steed.”

The “steeds” she’s pointing to are a trio of sheep, and Henry stops, sighing heavily, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his wool overcoat. 

“Lizzie-,” he starts again, but she’s already rather nimbly climbing over the low stone fence, the hem of her short dress ripping as she throws one leg over.

She even lands gracefully, both arms out to the side to steady her like she’s a gymnast who’s just landed a particularly tough jump.

And when she turns to face him, her smile is bright as she gives a perfect- and mocking- curtsy. Then she’s spinning to march off towards the sheep, and Henry mutters a number of choice words before jogging up to the fence, placing one hand on it, and vaulting over.

He didn’t even want to come to this stupid bloody party in the middle of stupid bloody nowhere, full of a bunch of stupid bloody people. But networking was important, even at uni,  _ especially _ at Oxford, which is why he’d agreed to drive all the way out here to Welles’s country pile for a night of debauchery.

Henry hadn’t indulged because being around people like this meant he’d rather have his defenses up, but Lizzie clearly had no such compunctions. He wasn’t sure how many gin and tonics she’d put away, but apparently enough to make her impervious to cold  _ and _ make sheep seem like Ascot frontrunners.

The placid animals don’t bolt as she approaches, but watch her warily, and Henry hangs back, looking around him.

“For fuck’s sake, Lizzie,” he says, “there’s no telling whose field this is. We’ll be shot for trespassing or...or arrested.”

She giggles at that, turning back to face him. Earlier in the evening, her hair had been in a low chignon, but that’s come slightly undone now, her golden hair falling around her face. It makes her look softer and younger, and he hates this, hates being out here with her, hates that he couldn’t just let her go on her own merry way but instead decided to play knight errant.

“Why did you put arrested  _ after _ being shot?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “That makes it sound like being arrested would be worse.”

Rolling his eyes, Henry steps forward, putting one hand out. “Both would be pretty fucking bad, so can you just let me drive you home already?”

“Told you,” she says, jerking her thumb at the sheep. “Going by horseback.”

“Those are sheep.”

Frowning, Lizzie turns to face the nearest ewe, placing a finger over her lips and making an exaggerated, “shhhhh!” 

“Don’t listen to him, Secretariat,” she says, and Henry can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“Christ, you’re pissed,” he says, and she gives a sort of flailing shrug, her handbag slapping against her thigh. That’s finally enough to scare off the sheep who go trotting off through the field, much to Lizzie’s dismay.

“There went my ride,” she cries, and Henry steps close enough to take her arm.

“Allow me,” he says, and she stumbles a little in his grip, tilting her head back to look up at him.

They’re not friends, him and Lizzie York. They travel in the same circles, their families are allies or enemies depending on the week, and he knows that both his mother and hers would love nothing more than to see their names linked in The Times. But there’s little chance of that happening given that he and Lizzie have never been able to be in the same room for long without tearing a piece from each other’s hide. 

But she’s pretty. 

_ Fuck _ , she’s pretty. Lovely, even, and looking down at her in the moonlight, it’s hard to remember how much he doesn’t like her. 

“Allow you to what, Tudor?” she asks, eyebrows raised. 

For a moment, they stand there in the field, the night cold around them, the moon bright and icy in the sky, and Henry can see the clouds of their breath mingling in the air between them. 

Her lips curl in a little smile, like she knows what he’s thinking, and he feels her hand sneak its way under his coat, pressing against his chest. Her fingers dance along the front of his jumper, and he knows she can feel his heart leaping underneath her touch. “Are you coming on to me?” she asks, and he has no idea if she wants him to be, or if she’s delighted at the idea because it’ll give her the perfect opportunity to take the piss, possibly for the rest of their lives.

How is it that she can be drunk as a lord and talking to sheep, yet  _ still  _ seem to have the upper hand?

Reaching for her wrist, Henry stops her questing hand and draws himself up, looking down his nose at her. “Hardly,” he says as he pushes her hand back towards her before shoving his own hands in his pockets again, fingers flexing because he can still feel her bare skin against his. “It just seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, offering you a lift.”

She blinks a few times, and he gets the sense she might be sobering up a bit. “Gentlemanly,” she nearly snarls, but that’s better. That’s the Lizzie he’s used to. 

Pulling her coat back into place, Lizzie crosses her arms over her chest and sighs, looking up at the night sky. “Fine,” she finally says. “You can play white knight and tell your flatmates you actually had a girl in your car once. Hope the shock doesn’t kill them.”

With that, she heads for the fence, and after a long moment, Henry follows.


End file.
